


Endurance

by galacticproportions



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Claustrophobia, Kissing to stay quiet, M/M, More like semi-public semi-sex, New Relationship, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 10:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10462983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticproportions/pseuds/galacticproportions
Summary: Stuck for hours on public transportation, in the dark and underground, they have to get creative. But it's not just about passing the time.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts).



> Sometimes you* write 20K-word epics with involved worldbuilding, wishful politics and a 19-year burn, and sometimes you write something like this, and that's why fandom is so great.
> 
> For Orchis, with love and gratitude for your friendship and your enthusiasm always. 
> 
> *I mean me. I do that.

The underground transport from spaceport to city is nearly eight standard hours long. On this world whose surface atmosphere includes methane and sulfur dioxide, only the underground caverns are habitable for most species, and the inhabitants have as few passages to the outside as they can.

Sentients have been living and building here for five or six generations, but Poe can't imagine why. When he thinks too hard about the tunnels, the weight and darkness of the soil and rock outside and below and _above_ the transport, he feels sick.

But all that digging opens up a lot of mineral deposits, including components of some important and very high explosives, and he's here to haggle for a share of them for the Resistance. It helps that Finn is with him, thigh to thigh on the crowded transport seat. Night and day follow each other here without reference to the planet's star; this is the dark cycle, and close around them people of all species are breathing and wheezing and snuffling in their sleep.

Poe is wide awake and on edge, and he has to get himself under control, or he'll slip up. It's a fairly straightforward proposition, and he's pretty good on no sleep, but this constant low-grade unsettlement is just the kind of thing that throws him off. And there are nearly three hours to go.

“You okay?” Finn says in his ear. Poe realizes belatedly that he's been jittering his leg, and Finn can feel it, of course, where they're touching. He stops it. “Yeah, fine, sorry.”

“Don't worry,” Finn says, laying his big warm hand just above Poe's kneecap.

Poe measures time in battles these days, and there've been three since Finn turned one of their habitual hugs into a long kiss, simple as that. They moved their beds together and in the between-battle times set about learning each other in countless new ways, a curve that would've been sharper if it weren't periodically interrupted by adrenaline and blood and exhaustion and loss and separation. They misunderstand each other often, and they always find their way to coherence, but it all takes time.

When Poe asked if Finn would second him on this assignment, he wasn't surprised by Finn's familiarity with the minerals in question or his quick grasp of the cultural literacy materials. But Finn's eagerness _was_ a surprise, and a pleasure, like when you pick up your glass and it turns out the liquor is good.

Shit, he could use a drink. Maybe it'd help him feel less like the tunnel's closing in.

Finn's hand is where he put it, still warm, still resting light but with a reminder of the strength of his grip. Concentrate on that. Let it be an anchor.

Then Finn moves his hand higher, about midthigh, and Poe squirms without meaning to.

“No?” Finn asks, his breath soft on Poe's neck. “We don't have to. I thought it might help distract you.”

It might, at that, but Poe's busy being ridiculously warmed by the fact that Finn noticed his need for distraction. “Can't do much here, though,” he points out, keeping his voice low and gesturing—almost invisibly in the darkness—at their sleeping neighbors and their own relative immobility.

“Sure, that's what's fun about it,” Finn says. “Man, I used to do this in _barracks._ This is nothing. We really don't have to if you don't want to, though--”

Poe certainly does want to, and says so as vehemently as he can without making noise. Finn uses his other hand to turn Poe's face and kiss him, somewhere between sweet and demanding. The word that passes through Poe's mind is _reassurance,_ not in a condescending way but as a kind of reminder that both of them are here together, whatever else is going on. Finn kneads the muscle of Poe's thigh, slides his palm higher still, until he's cupping Poe's groin warmly but without motion. Poe shifts his hips toward the touch, and Finn pinches his upper arm with the other hand. “Stay still.”

“You're kidding.” None of this above a whisper, a barely articulated breath in the dark.

“No, I'm not. Can you?”

“I don't know,” he admits, before he can stop himself. That's not the kind of thing he tells people. He's always sure, he always—almost always—does what he sets out to do. Almost always—

“Try,” Finn says, and rubs just a little bit.

Poe sighs. Tries to press _back_ into the seat instead, just for pressure to counter what Finn's doing to him, a steady even friction, refusing to escalate. It's so good, and he wants so much more, and just when he thinks he can't hold back a sound or a thrust or _something,_ Finn takes his hand away. “C'mon!”

“In a second.”

He gives Poe exactly enough time to become aware again of his extremities and not just his dick, and then he starts in again, a little firmer, a little slower, bringing his thumb into play where the head of Poe's cock is pushing against the seam of his pants. He hisses. “Quiet,” Finn warns, and brings their mouths together again, pulling back to murmur, “If you get too loud I'll stop, and if you move too much--”

“Okay, I get it.”

“Shh.” Finn strokes him a couple more times, then takes his hand away again, kisses Poe's mouth and his neck with an awkward stopover at his chin on the way between. Poe feels like his own breathing must itself be filling the transport car, heavy and harsh enough to wake the sleepers, but no one else stirs, even when Finn sets a firmer, faster pace and Poe has to bite his own lip to keep from making—he doesn't even know what sound it would be, because he doesn't dare make it. He wants Finn to make him come, wants to get to his knees between Finn's thighs on the grimy transport floor. He sits still and quivers into the next pause, waiting for Finn to touch him again.

Flashes of their time together pass across his mind. Blowing Finn at the edge of the bed, muscle memory taking over for him and opening his throat even as he felt stunned and fumbling with wonder. Sharing a ration bar and a flask of water during a pause in a briefing. A bad night on a burned-out world, waiting for the rendezvous with the ground troops, and the moment when his eye picked out Finn's gait among them. Finn's fingers inside him, spreading, stinging. Their first night, walking back to their quarters with a changed, charged knowledge of what would happen when they got there.

He loses track of the number of times Finn brings him just to the edge and leaves him there. A couple of times he tries to reciprocate, and Finn moves his hand away before Poe can even tell if this is turning him on too—but it must be, the grip of his other hand and the rush of his breathing say it is. A couple of times Poe can't restrain a motion or a sound, and Finn pinches an arm or inner thigh, or presses his hand down hard, and backs off before starting again.

This time when Poe thinks he's about to lose it and start begging, Finn's free hand comes up, the meat of the heel of it nudging against his lips. He opens to it and half-sucks, half-bites, almost sobbing with the temporary relief. It clears his head enough to marvel at the attention Finn's paying, noting Poe's responses and acting just when he needs to. And then Poe's lost in it again, agonized, trembling, drooling around Finn's palm.

Beside him, a person whose species he doesn't know, elderly from her posture, grunts in her sleep and resettles.

Finn's touch lightens again, smooths out, and Poe would curse him if he could. He's never been so hard, never wanted so much. He tries to think of what he'll do when he gets Finn alone, how he'll push him back on the bed and suck and finger him till he forgets his name or maybe just touch him everywhere _but_ where he wants, see how he likes it, but that just makes it worse and Poe can't help it, he's going to come and then he'll have to walk around all day feeling it, clammy with the proof of how he couldn't resist—

The tunnel opens out into a greenly lit dome, its ceiling woven with the hyphae that metabolize the surface atmosphere into breathable air down here. People are stirring, patting their headcrests into shape, putting in eyedrops, gathering their things.

“Where,” Poe says as soon as they step out onto the platform—walking _hurts—_ and Finn laughs his beautiful open laugh, does a quick visual scan of the area. He finds the one place where they'll have cover if they're quick—a blind corner between two buildings and behind the power source for a nearby traffic signal—and pulls Poe along with him.

 


End file.
